100 Prompts: Dragon Age
by Flaxblossom
Summary: 100 Prompts for writing practice. Each chapter will be a one shot encouraged by these one word prompts. A wide array of characters (all from the Dragon Age games), situations, and moods. :) Please enjoy!
1. Beginnings - Anders

100 Prompts – Beginnings

* * *

As I lay in Darktown with the rats and spiders skittering over my feet I ask myself: How did I get here? Where did this begin?

Let me rewind and start with the death of some cursed Templar escorts falling, one by one, and the stench of burning darkspawn flesh filling the air. I shook my hands to put out the last flickers of flame from my fingertips and turned. My escape was already all planned out you see, I was going to head south to Denerim and maybe even contact the Mages Collective for protection. But there, with one eyebrow cocked, stood a man between me and my freedom. Now, twas not so bad, a simple change of plan. He seemed amiable enough and trustworthy, though something was certainly unusual about him.

Little did I know that was the moment. That fleeting moment, was the beginning of the end.

The Warden-Commander saved me, in a sense. I was free from the Templars in technicality, but at what price? I asked myself that question more times than I can count. It turned out later that without the Commander to protect me, the Wardens were a crueler Master than the Templars ever were.

Why is it that every beginning marks an end?

I say that when the Warden-Commander found me it was my beginning, but as I share this with you, I realize that no, that is not entirely true. _That _Anders was a happy man, free, lighthearted, and loyal. I would have faced any abomination for my Commander. The way he would throw his head back, and laugh, then meet our gazes, a passionate fire alive in his eyes. He would finally meet my eyes and smile, saying, "My friends! Today you have made me proud!"

That Anders would have made an ever-faithful Warden. But when the Commander disappeared, gone, like mist when struck by the morning sun, so was my anchor and safety. The Wardens and Templars fell on me like vultures, picking at the fresh wounds of my bleeding heart, for I had not just lost a leader, but a mentor, an idol, a friend.

That was my beginning. _This_ Anders beginning. With no purpose, I blindly searched for one.

To top it off, they took Ser-Pounce-A lot and sent Nathaniel to Denerim for such and such business with King Alistair and the Couslands. I was alone once more, no one needed me, and no one cared.

So when Justice came to me, needy, alone, and wanting for a friend, I, weak in spirit from loneliness, offered the one thing I should have never bargained with:

Myself.

Thus, the beginning of my end.


	2. Friends - Hawke

100 Prompts – Friends

* * *

Yet another evening spent at the Hanged Man, all of us gathered round a table in Varric's private quarters. Drinks are served and cards passed around as people place their sovereigns before them. We all knew it was a game at heart and any money lost or won is quickly returned in friendly favors. Merrill shrieked and giggled as Varric grabbed her gold.

"Sorry Daisy!"

Isabela placed a hand on Merrill's shoulder and leaned in. "Sweet thing! You are never going to win if you don't start cheating!"

Merrill was blushing in embarrassment by the end of it and attempted, badly, to cheat during the next round.

As the evening wound down Anders found a seat beside me and settled in with cheap rum and a rare smile.

"Hey Blondie," Varric, always on the search for story fodder wasn't going to pass up a chance at a tipsy Anders.

"Yes, Varric?" Anders cheeks were flushed but his honey colored eyes were bright and focused. I sipped my hard drink and I realized that he wasn't actually as influenced by the alcohol as he seemed. I believe he simply wanted an excuse to be carefree again, even if he was fooling himself as well.

"Tell me about your degenerate youth, in great detail."

"Well my hairy dwarven friend, I think you and your whims could devise a better youth than my dull old story."

Carver snorted, the strapping dark haired boy sitting on the bench near Isabela and casting her lingering glances. I could tell by the way she crossed her legs and turned towards him that she welcomed the attention.

"Oh sure, encourage him to make up more rubbish, why don't you."

"You're just mad because I used the word sniveling to describe you once or twice, Junior."

I wrapped my arm around Anders neck and grinned at him. "Come on Anders! We'd all like to hear!"

"Speak for yourself!" Carver whined.

"Oh alright, how could I refuse this lovely face?" Anders grabbed my chin and winked. "It all began on a stormy night just like this one when a poor innocent boy accidentally set the town mayors barn on fire…"

* * *

We all dissolved into giggles as Anders ended his tale, his eyes on fire with passion as he stood on the table, a candlestick in hand.

"You! That cat makes you weak! Relinquish your hold, mage swine!" He thrust with the candlestick. "No please ser, Warden! My kitty-cat is all I have!" He clutched the candlestick to his chest like it was a newborn babe.

"Blondie…" Varric wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "That was gold."

Anders stumbled down from the table and tossed the candlestick into Merrill's unsuspecting lap.

"You next Merrill!" He declared. "Tell us a story!"

"Oh, I don't think so…" Her ears were rosy pink and her doe eyes blinked nervously.

"Come on!"

"Well, there was this one time back in Fereldan…"

* * *

"And Keeper Marethari ran up waving her arms and yelling, 'Those mushrooms cause hallucinations Tamlen! Don't eat them, for Creators sake!' And Tamlen just stared at her like, huh? And said 'What?', and then, Creators help me, he turned to his friend and whispered, 'Careful, I think the badger is getting frisky!'"

Isabela shrieked and we all laughed as Merrill fell back in her chair, her face flushed from smiling. It continued on like that for long into the night, each member taking their turn and sharing a story. Aveline told the adventurous tale of how she met Wesley. Isabela told a story concerning a handsome Antivan Crow running naked along the rooftops when their little escapade was discovered. Varric, with much flourish and pomp, told of the night he convinced Bartrand to try Topsider Ale. Carver even joined in by the end, describing an encounter behind Borlin's shed with a girl he, with much embarrassment, named as Peaches.

Many a drink had been passed around and people now lay sleeping in their seats. Anders met my eyes with his bright honey gaze and kissed me lightly on the cheek before leaving for his Clinic. How he remained so unaffected by alcohol I will never know. Perhaps it has something to do with Justice. Carver had toppled over into Isabela's lap, quite accidentally, I imagine, and Varric snored peacefully way in his overstuffed chair. I glanced into the corner when movement caught my eye and saw Fenris, quiet as a cat, swirl his glass of wine.

"Fenris!" I quietly hissed. "You naughty elf, you didn't share a story with us." I was embarrassed to hear my words slur together as they left my mouth. He drew nearer and sat by me, an arm lazily slung over the back of the chair.

"I have no stories to share, Hawke."

"Liar." I shook a finger at his pretty nose. "You are just a pooper of parties. That's all." I took a sip from my drink. "Well, did you have a good laugh at our expenses then?"

He smiled, brown lips curling over perfect white teeth. "Yes, in fact I did." He gazed into my eyes for a moment longer than usual, probably wondering how I could even see with how unfocused they were. I gazed back, barely noticing that my mouth had run off without me.

"You know. I agree with Isabela, your eyes are pretty enough to wear as a necklace. If they didn't shrivel up, that is. Eyes shrivel you see… And that would be a waste."

He blinked at me, confusion apparent on his face.

"Of your eyes. It would be a waste of your eyes. Oh Maker, I should swear to never drink again."

"I think it's time to take you home." He was struggling not to smile. "Allow me to escort you." He gently took the glass from my hand and stood, placing it on the table.

"You're right. Sorry that I just said I would wear your eyes on a necklace. I wouldn't really. I'll just… Yeah I'll stop talking. Thanks for being here Fenris, I appreciate it. Truly."

He wrapped a strong arm around my waste and smiled gently.

"Hawke, what else are friends for?"


	3. Storm - Zevran

Note: So as I was writing this it was late at night and I had headphones in. I was obviously writing about a storm full of thunder, lightning, and torrential rain. As I finished typing I took out my headphones and suddenly it began thundering loudly, pouring rain, and lightning began flashing outside my window.

I am a wizard.

100 Prompts – Storm

* * *

I am a miserable assassin. I am miserable because there is water sloshing out of my boots and my underwear is sticking to places it should not be allowed to. Thus, I came to the conclusion that Fereldan is a wretched place, scarred by death and oppression… And it smells of wet dog.

It's my own fault I'm here, and I question what had made me so desperate for my death that I agreed to, nay, I _begged_ for this contract.

Thought was put on hold as my boots sunk deep into the mud, forcing me to wrench them out with a sick sucking noise. Maker help my pathetic elven soul. I chanced a look up, the torrential downpour obscuring all vision and pouring into my eyes, making them sting. It was late at night, that much I knew. We would have camped hours ago, but the Warden had not found a safe place for us to stay, out of the rain.

For a moment I felt my stomach clench in a panic that I couldn't see anyone else. I took a deep breath (rewarding myself with water in my nose). Surely they were all still here and just as desperate and miserable as I was. I focused and closed my eyes, calming the thudding of my own heart to hear, able now to make out the muffled curses of Oghren behind me, and the metallic aching of Alistairs full plate not far ahead of me. I could just make out Leliana's labored form ahead and to my left, the dainty redhead surely being pummeled by the force of the rain.

A sudden flash lit our path in blinding white and I could see all of us, tormented and drenched, trying to follow the smaller form ahead, our Grey Warden. I was able to make him out in the following flashes of lightning, cracking and sparking over us, as if the Maker were having a temper tantrum. The Warden was far ahead, his broad shoulders hunched a bit in defiance, staff tightly gripped in his hand and hood rejected and hanging down his back, the water dripping from the ends of his fair blond curls instead. Sten stood only a couple inches away from his shoulder, towering above him and looking quietly at his Warden, I could see his lips moving, silently questioning him, or perhaps offering guidance. I envied the Qunari their resilience, Sten looked hardly discontented much less uncomfortable, his shoulders straight, and his head bent only so he could be nearer the Warden.

I felt my forehead crease in an uncommon scowl. I was not proud of the fact that I was envious of the unconditional trust Sten and the Warden had for each other. I shook my head, water flying from my braids. Ah, the rain was taking its toll on my morale. How does one combat something that surrounds you?

Thunder roared around us, rattling my very bones and any light from the lightning was short and sporadic, hurting my eyes more than helping them.

"We cannot go on like this!" I heard Alistair cry. "Amell! We must find a place to rest!"

Only Alistair was close enough personally to the Warden to call him by his name, and then it was still his last name. The Warden, Amell, rarely even introduced himself with his first name. I often wondered what sorts of secrets he held in that name.

"Agreed." The Wardens soft low voice answered over the rain, barely discernable.

Leliana stumbled and slipped in the mud, going almost elbow deep in muck. I stumbled forward to help her, slipping my arms under her armpits and lifting her to her feet, attempting to brush some mud from her arms, her eyes looked rimmed with red as if she had been crying.

"Thank you Zevran. I am alright."

"You're welcome. Fereldan, she is a cruel Mistress."

Leliana nodded, her chin trembling from cold or emotions. I realized that I too was trembling as the rain cooled on my form, my core cold as ice. Leliana and I helped each other then to stay on our feet. Suddenly we hear a cry ahead and my heart did a skip of adrenaline.

"Warden? What is wrong?" I cried, trying to see through the pitch.

"There is a ledge here my friends, we can camp under it!" His voice rang with victory. "Come! Can you find it?"

"I can't see a blighted thing!" Oghren cursed. "Give us a hand you sodding, useless, mage!"

A warm red glow erupted ahead of us a few hundred feet, illuminating the form of Sten and our Warden, red fire curling around his staff and left hand, his right beckoning us forward.

"Come on! That's it Morrigan."

Morrigan appeared from the shadows and slid in beside the Warden, her lips a delicate shade of blue, but her eyes defiant as ever as she slapped his helping hand away.

We all made it to his light and huddled together, far closer than some of us found comfortable, around a sad excuse of a fire the Warden had made out of tinder and magic. Sten frigidly sat outside the ledge, the rain pouring from his white dreadlocks. He declared he would not fit and needed no such 'coddling'.

"Sten, are you sure?" The Warden asked quietly, to which he received a nod.

"I am not fragile, Kadan. Something you and your kind can never hope to comprehend."

The Warden nodded and sat with his brown cloak clasped tightly about his shoulders. In all honesty, he looked half drowned, as did we all. He slowly moved to his feet and checked in on each of us, healing the injuries we'd all received from falls with his magic. Most of us were too tired to thank him, and his face grew drawn at the energy he was consuming. Finally he sat again and breathed deep, his face ashen, but controlled.

I stealthily grabbed his cloak and wrapped it around myself, shoulder to shoulder now with the Warden, our combined body heat immediately warming each other. He shivered as the cold slowly left his body, and cocked an eyebrow at me, something he did far too frequently.

"Do not tell me you are not the sharing type, dear Warden."

He chuckled and pulled the cloak tighter around us both. "Would it deter you at all even if I did, Zevran?"

I shrugged and shook some water from my hair, loose strands clinging to my forehead. His curls still dripped with unshed water. What a pair we were.

"I am afraid not, my friend. I am insufferable, or so I've been told…"

"Right before you end up in bed with someone. Yes, we've heard it all before." Alistair joined us under the Wardens cloak. "Maker," He elbowed the Warden gently. "Nothing like a Fereldan spring, eh Amell?"

The Warden tossed his head back lightly and laughed. "Indeed! It certainly gets the blood pumping!" The two Wardens grinned cockishly at each other as I wrung my boots out.

"Oh, yes. Ha. Ha. I have heard that 'torrential showers bring Andraste's flowers'." I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "How can you stand it, truly? This miserable cycle? We haven't seen the sun in two weeks!"

The Warden smiled slightly and shrugged, lifting stark blue eyes to the inky sky. "I grew up in the Circle, Zevran. I have found that all these adversities make finally seeing the sun that much sweeter."

Fereldan is a wretched place that smells of wet dog, but it breeds a noble people and I would not change a single decision that led me here.

Though, they all do stink of wet dog. I think I'm beginning to also.


	4. Sorrow - Nathaniel

100 Prompts – Sorrow

* * *

The pain ate away at my insides like a slow working poison, making me suffer through each and every gruesome stage.

First I denied, I yelled, raising my voice at the trembling elven messenger, giving him a beating for lying and sending him away, before I collapsed, unable to deny the evidence in my hands. A letter from the newly crowned King himself, branding me, and my entire family, traitors to the crown and stripping us of our titles and lands. My hands trembled and the letter faded from sight as I kneeled in the dirt and wept bitter tears of loss. My father was accused of murdering the Cousland family and attempting to assassinate the Wardens, and for what? I told myself that he thought what he was doing was right but was rewarded with a dagger to the back. The Wardens got their revenge for his attempt on their life and killed him in cold blood. He died just for choosing the wrong side, and now his entire family tree suffered for it.

My life was ended as surely as his.

My stomach felt vile as the faces of my family haunted my sleep and wake equally. Thomas died at Ostagar, defending Fereldan against the blight.

Little brother, may the Maker guide you.

Delilah disappeared when the civil war reached Amaranthine and Vigils Keep burned to the ground, my family dragged from the inner rooms.

Little sister, step lightly along Andraste's path.

I could bear the pain no longer and tore the letter apart, my heart breaking with every rip of paper.

I was lost and turned to drinking, an unwanted and forgotten foreigner in the Free Marches with no home to return to. Some nights I would sit and stare at the wall, so numb that even the loss could no longer move me. Some nights I would cry until I was hoarse from heartbreak, but eventually I grew sickened of my own weakness.

I was Nathaniel Howe, eldest son and heir to Arl Rendon Howe, and if the illegitimate King wanted to take that from me, he would have to pry it from my cold stiff fingers.

I returned to Fereldan and found that I had no more a place here than in the Free Marches. When I would ask aid of the farmers they were ready to raise a helping hand… Until they learned who I was. They would then send me away, a threat for every retreating step I took. One even set his hounds loose on me. I barely escaped with only a couple of bleeding wounds and a badly healed scar on my leg.

Hate and sorrow festered in me until it was all I knew. These Wardens had taken my home, and now they trained their recruits where my first steps had been. It was my home, and I was going to make them pay dearly. For Thomas. For Delilah. For Father.

I was intent on killing the man that had killed my father. The Hero of Fereldan some called him, but I saw only a murderer. I broke into my old home, but as I snuck through the shadows I saw mementos littering the halls, memories of happier days, and the hate melted away leaving only the sorrow.

I began grabbing all that I could carry before the Orlesian Wardens found me. It took four of them to restrain me my fury was so great.

As I sat in my cell I wondered about my fate. They told me that the Hero of Fereldan, the Warden-Commander, was due to arrive soon, and I felt a chill settle over me. I doubted he would be anymore merciful with me than he had been with my father.

I was woken by screams echoing through the halls as lives were taken, snuffed out like candles. I tasted fear in those hours as I sat, alone, in the dark, only the cries of the dying to keep me company.

Eventually a guard came to see if I had died too. He didn't even try to hide his disappointment that I hadn't been touched. Darkspawn had attacked in the night and many lay dead. Hours passed as we waited for the Commander to com and sentence me but the waiting was killing me as surely as the Hangmans noose. When the Warden-Commander finally did find time to check on me, I felt anger course through my veins, leaving my limbs numb.

"Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?" I mocked him, though I then noticed he was a mage. Maybe he _could_ shoot lightning from his eyes.

"Ah," He chuckled, stark blue eyes obviously examining me. "I see my reputation precedes me." He met my eyes and his smile wavered for a moment, surprised by the hate he saw in them.

We argued then. I accused him of murder while he, infuriatingly calmly, assured me that there had been no other path. As if that justified what he had done. He questioned how I had so effectively broken in and what skills I had acquired in my time away from home.

"What if I let you go?" He asked, pacing quietly in front of my cell, feet patting softly on the dirt floor.

"Then there'd be no one to stop me from finishing the job."

I thought I saw him smirk as he turned away to summon the Seneschal. Said Seneschal arrived looking ready to throw me under the next passing cart if it would lessen his problems.

"Have you decided then, Warden-Commander?" He ignored my glares and turned his full attention to the Commander. The Warden didn't answer right away, he was staring at me with one eyebrow cocked, I could almost see the gears turning in his head.

"I have."

"So what is it to be then?" I sneer at him, gripping the bars between us, pulling myself closer, but he didn't back away, our noses almost touching.

"I invoke the right of conscription."

I felt like he had just punched me in the gut.

"I'd rather die!"

The Seneschal shoved a finger in my face. "That can be arranged, thief! Commander, with all due respect, this does not seem wise."

He waved off the Seneschals words of caution. "This is your chance to clear you sullied family name, Howe." It almost sounded like a challenge, the way he said those words. I could see it in the way he held himself that he was daring me to say that I wouldn't do it. That I couldn't do it. It burned me.

"You like having Grey Wardens who want you dead?"

His smile grew wide and victorious, his eyes bright with unshared tales. "Some of my best friends have wanted me dead." He turned to go, casting a look over his shoulder. "I'll take my chances with you."

* * *

"That arrogant mage saved me from myself." I concluded, sharing a drink with Anders, who sat across the table from me.

"Name calling will get you nowhere, Nathaniel." The Warden-Commander ambled into the room, a book in hand.

"Listening in on us again?" Anders grinned up at the Commander, admiration apparent on his face. If it was possible, Anders was even more devoted to the Commander than I was.

"In my line of work, I can't trust any of you rabble." He flicked his fingers at us as if banishing a spell. Anders jumped up to his feet and grabbed the book from the Commanders hands.

"You're right. Nathaniel and I are horrid."

"Anders, give that back."

"Make me!"

I laughed as it ended with Anders toppled over the nearby table, books and papers scattered around the room. As the Commander pried his book from Anders fingers he shot me a victorious smile and left.

It was true; he had saved me from my sorrow and given me a purpose for my life. I owed him everything for that.


	5. Children - Revka Amell

Note: This chapter was really hard to write and took me _forever_, mostly because I am writing a story about a woman that was only mentioned, and a situation that happened, but was never actually acknowledged. I hope I did this justice.

If any of you are confused, if you make a Human Mage in Origins, they are second-cousins to Hawke in DAII. Leandra mentions that she knew Revka and that she had the misfortune of having a Mage child. She also says that Revka had many other children, and all of them were Mages as well. My question is, why was the Warden in the Fereldan Circle then and not the Gallows? And if she had many children, why aren't they in the same Circle and aware of each other? So this is my explanation. I hope you all enjoy. :)

100 Prompts – Children

* * *

The Amells were once a well respected and loved family in Kirkwall, but I say that lightly. Love is weak when the weight of disaster sags heavy. How does a mother survive when the ruin of her family is her own blood, her precious son?

How proud I had been when I announced my conception and prouder still when I bore my husband a strong son.

"He holds himself as an Amell, look Revka, he has your fathers eyes!" All the noble women declared during their visits. "He will surely bring honor to _your_ name, as well as your husbands!"

I would look down at the child in my arms, and he would meet my gaze with his stark blue eyes so like my fathers, and in those moments I believed he was the most bewitchingly beautiful child in all of Thedas. We betrothed him as an infant to Flora Harimann, the petite daughter of a fierce and wealthy noble family. Our families combined would be nearly unstoppable.

As my boy grew we gave him tutoring, the best wealth could buy, and taught him the Orlesian language so he could go far, maybe even move from Kirkwall to the richer lands of Orlais, where nobles flourished. At six my boy would recite complete sentences to his fiancée to impress her, earning a chaste kiss on the cheek from the dark haired beauty.

My world then came crashing down.

I had errands to attend to and left my son with his nanny at her small house in the poorer part of Hightown. She had been his nanny since his birth and she was loved by us all, tutoring him as well, for she was a well learned woman. My son had been naughty and refused to study his Geography books, throwing them instead in a fit of tantrum. His nanny was a stern woman and told him he would receive no dessert that night, and, like any child he grew angry. What happened then was beyond even his control. Fire burst from him and lit her house, burning to a pile of ashes, nearly costing her, and my son, their lives.

My husband fearfully demanded we rid ourselves of him quickly. He told me we could start again and have another child to replace him. He could not understand. I could not relinquish my child to the Circle where he would be locked up in the wretched Gallows, a stain on the Makers world.

He would never know me or my face there.

So I ran. I took my son to Fereldan where the land was as likely to kill you as the people. I cut all ties from my husband, for I was an Amell, and now, so was my son.

The Templars pursued us relentlessly and we grew to live each day in fear. My son was unable to control his power and everywhere we went he would accidentally leave signs. Wild beasts dropping dead from a wave of his hands, fires starting with a simple look, peoples injuries being healed with a touch of his fingers. Even those he helped feared us, alerting the Templars to our whereabouts, the chase beginning again. My boy slowly stopped talking, saying only a couple of words when pressed. He was confused, scared, lost, _angry._

He was eight when the Templars found us.

They came at us from the shadows of the forest. There had been no warning and they had us surrounded. I tried to fight them, but they held me back as they grabbed my son. The poor boy did not even resist.

I begged them not to take him but they spit on me and pushed me down into the dirt, mocking me. My son's eyes burned with rage.

I left Fereldan. I fled from my shame. My travels took me to Antiva, Orlais, countless other places. I even had more children, but they too were taken from me, for they bore the same taint as my eldest. Magic was like a poison in my blood that destroyed everything I loved.

My troubled heart slowly healed, leaving behind a scar for each child lost. I settled in Denerim and eventually I married again. My life passed by in quiet contentment, but never again did I bear a child.

When the Blight swallowed Fereldan and nearly destroyed Denerim in its fury, my husband and I were lucky to escape with our lives. The two Wardens responsible for saving the land took their places as leaders of our country. One was crowned King, for it was revealed that he was the illegitimate child of our late King Maric, may he walk with the Maker forever. When our leaders were presented to us Queen Anora and King Alistair stood side by side, a living promise of peace and prosperity. Standing on the Kings left was the newly appointed Warden-Commander, Hero of Fereldan, and defeater of the Archdemon. He was tall and well-built, dusty blue robes clung to his lean muscles. He had his staff in hand; his cornsilk curls being tossed in the wind, a tattoo sharply defined against the pale skin of his face. He was the very image of what the Chantry and Templars feared: handsome and fierce, rebellious and noble.

I felt a stirring as I watched him but dared not hope. Even so, I could not let him leave. I needed to know.

I crept past the guards and made it into the halls of the palace, seeing the Wardens retreating form ahead.

"Wait!"

He paused and turned to me, and as our eyes met, I saw that they were my father's eyes. I had found my son. My vision blurred with tears as I reached for him, holding him in my arms tenderly.

He reached forward and ran a thumb down the side of my face, wiping away the tears. "I know your face." He whispered. "Do not weep for me, Mother."

Since that moment the shadow that haunted me lifted and I felt free again.

He knew me, and he knew my face.


End file.
